


The Leash Game

by animehead



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Creampie, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP without Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: Jesse makes a deal with Hanzo about a stuffy party that he doesn’t really want to go to.





	

He stands in front of the mirror, two neckties draped across his forearm. They are both fashionable, silk and expensive. One of them—a soft, powder blue—brings out the richness of his eyes.  The other—a bold, elegant red—makes a statement. It exclaims pride, confidence, _power_.

“Mm.” He brings his arm up, holds it at chest level, just below his neck. “The red one,” he says aloud, followed by a single nod of his head. The blue tie is placed back on the holder, dangling between two ties of similar colors.

Quietly, he makes his way out of the bedroom, and down the hall. The sound of the television drifts through the air, and he follows it, footsteps leading him past the kitchen and dining room, and finally coming to halt just at the entrance of a small room. Jesse calls this room the ‘man cave,’ which is ridiculous. It was not a cave. It was a room. A small room, but a room nonetheless.

He finds Jesse in the same spot he’s been in for the past hour or so. He’s half-dressed, white dress shirt, starched collar, and boxer shorts decorated with tiny American flags.

“You are not ready,” Hanzo says, fingers grasping at his tie, manipulating the fabric around his neck.

“Few more minutes,” Jesse says. “You know they’ve got this here SVU marathon goin’ and I want—”

“You can watch your soap operas later. We must leave soon.”

“I’ve told you, these ain’t no soaps. Stop callin’ ‘em that.”

“Soap operas,” Hanzo says again, defiantly, _childishly_.

“They ain’t soap ahp-per-ras,” Jesse replies back, exaggerating each syllable, mocking Hanzo’s accent.

“Yes, they are.”

“No,” Jesse stands, somewhat toweringly so, over Hanzo, “they ain’t.”

“Good,” Hanzo says. “You are up. Now get dressed. We leave soon.” He turns and exits the room, leaving Jesse standing in front of the television, arms drooped and mouth wide.

“Come on, Hanzo.” Jesse follows after him, trying his best to talk his way out of going. “Do I really gotta’ show my face? They can’t never get the temperature right at those functions. It’s either colder than a witch’s tit, or hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Why would who do what?”

“The rats?”

“Rats?” Jesse shakes his head. “It’s just an expression. Look. Why don’t you and me just skip the suit party, and stay here. I’ll cook us up some grub, and we’ll—”

“I am expected to be there. We will not stay long.”

“You know I hate it when ya lie to me, darlin’.”

“It is the truth.”

Hanzo steps back into his bedroom. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he begins to put on his shoes. But Jesse stops him, takes the shoe away before he can fully get his foot inside of it.

“Let’s say we make a deal,” Jesse says, and Hanzo does not like the sound of that. He is not a gambling man. But Jesse McCree is.

And he’s good at it.

“What type of _deal?_ ” he asks. He reaches for his shoe, arm darting out to grab it out of Jesse’s hand, but Jesse moves quicker, pulling it further out of reach.

“One hour. That’s how long we do yer shindig. Anything later than that, and we get to play that game I love.” Jesse grins at him, all teeth.

“Which game?” Hanzo asks slowly.

Jesse’s still grinning when he answers. “You know the one. The one with the leash.”

Hanzo knows exactly which game Jesse is speaking of. He also knows the ramifications of it. The weather outside has been warmer than usual. Not hot enough to turn on the air conditioning, but certainly enough to open the windows. They usually kept them open through the night.

“What about grace time?”

“Fifteen minutes. Not half a second more,” Jesse answers.

“Fine,” Hanzo replies. “It is a deal.”

The grin, which is still plastered on Jesse’s face, widens. “Nice doin’ business with ya, partner.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. He has nothing to worry about. An hour and fifteen minutes was more than enough time to show his face. He and Jesse would leave well before then.

* * *

Jesse hates these parties. They’re nothing but power plays. Bunch of men dressed up in suits and ties, all thinking their sacs hung the lowest. He has no place among these people. They’re Hanzo’s people. But since there was damn near nothing he wouldn’t do for Hanzo, he forced himself to go to these things. Having them all stare at him like he was a two-headed snake never really much bothered him. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. They always had booze.

And that plays in his favor.

Hanzo Shimada is a lot of things—stubborn as a mule, pretty as a picture, and three sheets to the wind. And that deal he and Jesse made? Well, he folded on that about an hour ago.

Jesse stands at Hanzo’s side, one arm helping to keep him upright as he says his farewells to his people. He whistles quietly to himself, occasionally stopping just to breathe in the scent of Hanzo’s cologne, or freshly washed hair—which honestly has a subtle tinge of cigar smoke. Wasn’t his doing. He didn’t smoke tonight.

He listens to Hanzo’s rambling, occasionally throwing in a few _‘Mms,’ ‘Ohs,’_ and a couple of _‘Ya don’t says.’_ He doesn’t really know what Hanzo is talking about, and from the sound of things, neither does Hanzo.

He’s all smiles when he buckles Hanzo into the passenger seat, positions himself behind the steering wheel, and drives them both straight home. Hanzo manages to stay awake during the ride home, and just long enough for Jesse to get him into bed.

“Sleep it off,” Jesse whispers as Hanzo cuddles himself against one of the plush, white pillows. “I’ll be waiting for ya when ya wake up.” He kisses the back of Hanzo’s head, and leaves him be, wandering into the man cave to finish up that SVU marathon.

* * *

The first thing Hanzo does when he wakes up is glance at the alarm clock. He remembers leaving with Jesse, remembers arriving to the party, remembers drinking— _too much drinking_ —and not much after that. Thankfully, he doesn’t have a hangover. But he is thirsty.

“Gotta’ glass of water right next to ya,” Jesse says.

The sound startles Hanzo. The room is dark, and Jesse is not in the bed next to him. Judging from the distance of his voice, he’s on the other side of the room. Probably near the closet.

_Oh._

“Close the windows,” Hanzo says.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. Nice out tonight. Fresh air’ll do us both some good.”

The moonlight seeping in through the window gives off just enough light for Hanzo to make out Jesse’s approaching figure. He catches the strip of fabric hanging from his neck, sees the tattered ends of the leash where Jesse cut off the wrist loop. The leash is attached to a collar, hideous thing comprised of leather and steel. He can hear the soft clinks of metal tinkering against metal as Jesse draws near. He’s not wearing anything else.

Hanzo reaches for the water, takes a long sip, and places it back on the nightstand.

“Come.”

Jesse chuckles, but does as he’s instructed.

“There is enough,” Hanzo says. No further.”

Hanzo scoots himself down the bed until he’s positioned just at the foot of it. He feels Jesse’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up to meet his gaze. Gently, he wraps his fingers around Jesse’s cock, thumb gingerly brushing over the tip.

“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Jesse says. Hanzo says nothing.

Jesse hardens—not instantly, but almost—in his hand, appreciative moans falling from his lips. It’s good, Hanzo thinks, to distract him with something like this. He could do this, use his mouth, even, as long as the outcome was the same. He could avoid Jesse’s game, could avoid the embarrassment of having to face the neighbors who would _hear_ him because Jesse refused to close the windows.

“Mm, that’s nice,” Jesse groans into the air.

Hanzo’s just started and his jaws already ache. He rocks forward and back, gliding his tongue down the link of Jesse’s dick. He feels fingers in his hair, some warm and firm against his scalp, the others cool and simply resting against his head.

He doesn’t protest when Jesse drives his hips forward, fingers still tangled in Hanzo’s hair as he fucks his mouth. Soon it becomes pointless to move, so Hanzo doesn’t. He sits there, mouth wide, bottom lip, chin, and neck wet from saliva. He’s stiff inside of his pants, cock pressed against his slacks and aching to be free. But he ignores it, knows that if he gives it any attention, Jesse might remember his foolish game.

“I bet,” Jesse begins, and he slides his cock out of Hanzo’s mouth with a hiss, “ya thought I’d forgotten, didn’t ya? Not a chance.” He smirks down at Hanzo, cock slick and covered and Hanzo’s spit. It looks bigger since the last time he saw it. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

“Gone ahead and take those off.” Jesse motions down at Hanzo’s clothing. “Ya ain’t gonna be needing ‘em.”

Hanzo glances over at the window, and Jesse follows his gaze. Smiling, he walks over toward the window, grabs the bottom of it, and pushes it up as high as it can go, opening it until it’s as wide as can be.

Hanzo glares at him, but undresses. He prides himself in being better than Jesse in many things. But he’s never won this game. It’s frustrating to say the least, especially when it’s such a simple game. When he’s fully undressed, Hanzo begins to lie back on the bed, but Jesse stops him.

“Oh no ya’ don’t.” He raises up a hand, drawing invisible circles with his metal, index finger. “Flip on over.”

And then the game begins.

Hanzo feels the bed dip behind him. Jesse’s hands are warm, calloused, and slick. The leash glides against his bare back, making him shiver. He holds his breath, grunts softly when Jesse slides a slippery finger inside of him. He nips at his own lip, tugging at it as Jesse stretches him. It’s awkward and embarrassing. But necessary. When he feels Jesse withdraw his finger, he reaches back blindly, hand searching for the leash, grasping it within his fist.

“Better keep that dog on a leash,” Jesse taunts him. “Can’t imagine what’ll happen if you let go.”

Hanzo tightens his grip around the leash.

He takes Jesse—every last stiff, achingly hard inch of him—in slowly, one hand gripping at the bedsheet, the other grasping so tightly at the leash that he feels the synthetic fibers scratching at his skin. He feels like he’s run a marathon by the time Jesse is fully inside of him, throbbing and thick.

Jesse pulls back until only the tip remains inside of Hanzo, and then thrust forward, hard but not exactly fast. If that were all it was, Hanzo could handle it. He could easily win the game. But he knew Jesse was just getting started. Although, it feels good, Hanzo can’t focus entirely on the pleasure. He has to _win_. For once, he has to beat Jesse at this ridiculous game. Thinking of what Jesse will do next, and when he’ll do it, is mentally exhausting. Someway, somehow Jesse is always one step ahead of him.

He feels fingers on his ass, opening him, spreading him wide. Jesse fucks him that way, exposing him, probably watching in fascination as his dick slides in and out of Hanzo’s ass. The sound is obscene, _humiliating_ , and Hanzo’s cock twitches each time he hears it.

After a while, Jesse pulls out, and for a moment—one full of heavy breathing and wishful thinking—Hanzo thinks Jesse is done. That is, until Jesse’s tongue substitutes for his cock. Hanzo cannot stop the moan from spilling from his lips, can’t stop how he groans Jesse’s name, one hand clawing helplessly at the bed, the other weakly grasping at the leash. It’s vulgar, a bit repulsive even, to think of the word _feast_ , but that is exactly what Jesse does. He devours Hanzo, eats him, tongue warm and wet, lapping, licking, rubbing and exploring.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whimpers, legs flailing and angled as Jesse holds him open. “E-Enough.”

“Enough?” Jesse repeats, the word murmured against Hanzo’s ass. He chuckles, gives Hanzo a bit of a reprieve, and kisses upward along his spine. When he reaches Hanzo’s shoulder, he nudges his head to the side, nuzzles his neck, and bites down.

Hanzo gasps, fingers flexing, leash gliding between the space between his middle and index fingers as effortlessly as sand. And just like that, he’s lost. Jesse was victorious.

“Looks like ya let go of the leash, Hanzo,” Jesse says. “Now why’d you go and do a thing like that?”

Hanzo doesn’t answer. Can only gasp as Jesse pushes back into him, hard and fast, hands gripping at his hips. He shoves forward, and pulls Hanzo back against him, forcing him to meet his hips. Hanzo howls, long and loud. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it. In spite of himself, he foolishly reaches backward in an attempt to control how hard Jesse’s thrusts are. But Jesse doesn’t allow it, grabs both of his wrists and pins them behind his back with his prosthetic hand, while the other tangles in soft, black hair and pulls.

Hanzo feels the stretch in his shoulders from the position, manages to smell the lingering fabric softener on the sheets each time Jesse thrusts forward, pressing his face against the mattress. It’s then, when Hanzo’s thighs tremble from pleasure, when his shoulders ache from pain, when his ass clenches, squeezing Jesse’s cock, and he comes, loud and hard, ruining the sheets below him, that he can admit that he doesn’t mind losing.

Jesse comes several minutes after him, when he’s too exhausted and sensitive to do anything but lie flat, ignoring the mess cooling against his stomach and dripping down his inner thigh. It’s a feeling hard to explain when Jesse comes inside of him. Like being filled and full to the brim, but somehow willing, _wanting_ to take more.

Jesse doesn’t so much pull out as he does slip out, his cock growing flaccid as he continues to lie on top of Hanzo. After a few seconds of ragged breathing, he finally rolls off, lies next to him, and presses his face against Hanzo’s back.

Jesse’s facial hair tickles and scratches his skin.

“How’s life treating ya?” Jesse asks.

“Next time we will skip the festivities and watch your soap operas,” Hanzo answers.

Jesse snickers. “Alright then. Next time we’ll skip the party and watch the soaps.”

It’s a deal both of them could live with.


End file.
